A Study in Crimson
by Team Sherlock Dreadful
Summary: This is a crossover between ACD's A Study in Scarlet, and Showtime's Penny Dreadful. Dr Watson is killed in Afghanistan and brought back to London. Here is he revived by Sherlock Holmes, but he is going by another name, that of Frankenstein. As Watson gets the opportunity to see the outside world strange murders occur. People claim they saw a scarred man, and a case is now open.


**A Study in Crimson**

**Sherlock Dreadful**

 **Prologue**

It was a stressful day as I worked on my patients, most had only been shot in the leg or in a similar area and I had little to no problem treating such injuries, there were worse ones of course but they had to have a full team work on them and I was not on such a shift right now.

I heard from the higher ups that everything had been quiet the last few days, that made me happy as I hoped to return home soon and keep working at the hospital.  
Suddenly an explosion erupted from the middle of the camp and all I could hear was screams, enemy soldiers ran into the camp and started shooting and I had to leave as the sound of retreat was called.

The dust settled as the blasts of gunfire still rung in my ears. The camp had been attacked and I had no idea if my patients were alive or not, I had just ran as soon as the alarm sounded, not caring for who was with me and what path I took, there was only one thing that I cared about in that moment: safety.  
I ran further away from the blasts not knowing what was ahead of me, I saw a small battalion of enemy soldiers ahead of my path, they all raised their weapons slowly and pointed them towards me. "Medic!" I had shouted before the gunfire sounded again, I slowly fell to the ground feeling my chest numb and watching as the world around me seemed to fade. "Watson has gone do…" the words stopped as the sky turned white and all that I knew, was gone.

 **Chapter 1**

The first thing I saw were the light brown eyes looking at me through the darkness, their light shone towards me while I took a first breath. The eyes made a sound of joy and walked towards me. "Watson, you are alive again, it is me, Frankenstein." The eyes told me as the dark room darkened even more. "You need to rest dear Watson, I will wake you tomorrow to see if you feel better." the eyes gleefully told me as the world became darker and darker.  
I awoke to see Frankenstein gleefully smiling at me, as he grabbed a thin white object with black writings on it, he told me about the object and gave me the knowledge to read, he continued to give me knowledge about different things, and he told me about myself.

I was a doctor, and I have been to many places, he and I were friends, and I was lost after something called a "war" but he found me and brought me back. He also told me about my markings which he called "scars" and that I had them when he found me and I had to remember what happened to find out why I had them.  
After several months of Frankenstein teaching me about myself and the world I could finally speak and write properly, I also had some idea of my identity and could finally go outside of this house. I looked towards Frankenstein as he was carefully reading a sheet of paper in one hand and writing on the other, there was a second set of papers on the big desk in the room but they were untouched. "Watson, it's time to get some fresh air." Frankenstein told me quietly as I walked towards him. "It's finally time for me to see the outside up close, right Mr. Frankenstein?" I asked carefully. "Yes, my dear Watson. But when we are outside, refer to me as Sherlock, it will be easier that way." Frankenstein said quietly.

I thought that was very strange of Frankenstein since he insisted I called him that name before I had learned properly, but it was not a difficult change for me. Sherlock and I went outside and we took a walk around the town, I asked about a great deal of things and Sherlock seemed content to answer, but as I looked around me I noticed something strange.  
"Sherlock, why does the local population seem to stare at me." I whispered carefully, Sherlock turned around and took a look at my face and smiled. "The scars my dear Watson, they can scare even the most brave man, come. Let us return back home." Sherlock insisted as we took a long walk back where I had the opportunity to ask many more of my questions. 

**Chapter 2**

A few weeks after I had been out for the first time I had learned a great deal more about the outside world, Sherlock told me about all the things that I needed to know to have a good understanding about the people outside.  
One day when Sherlock was teaching me about medicine he got a letter which made him seem distant, after a few hours of teaching he grabbed his coat. "Watson, were going to go on a little trip, get ready." I jumped up from my seat before Sherlock could finish the sentence and went to get ready, I was incredibly happy and ready to venture outside once again, but Sherlock seemed a bit distant still, like he was thinking about something that was bothering him.  
After a few minutes we had gone outside, as we left the mansion Sherlock had hid his face, I thought this was very strange but I let it slide since it had become apparent to me that Sherlock was quite strange compared to the normal populace. As we left the mansion a man clad in black went up towards our home.  
As we ventured out Sherlock stopped by a small house, he talked to the man inside. "You needed some help with painting today right?" Sherlock asked the man. "Yes it would help me greatly." The man quickly responded. Sherlock handed me a paintbrush and a can of paint and told me to paint the southern outside wall. I took off and painted the wall, It only needed a few touch ups.  
When I had finished painting my hands were stained, so I gave the man the can and the brush and went to the nearby river, as I washed my hands Sherlock walked up to me and we talked about painting. A woman walked by as I finished washing my hands, I waved towards her, but she seemed disturbed and ran off.  
Sherlock then took me to me to the hospital, and as we arrived there were a lot of policemen there, and Sherlock gently walked passed them as i hurried along after him. As we arrived in the basement there was a dead body in the middle of the room, then Sherlock looked at me and said. "We have a case, my dear Watson." 

**Chapter 3**

As we reached the crime scene, some of the police officers seemed annoyed to see him, and even more surprised when they saw me. For a change, I was not the only one they looked at with despise. Sherlock had introduced me as , an army doctor whose expertise would be greatly needed. I did not even remember my time as an army doctor, but Sherlock had told me before we arrived at the crime scene that handling real cases could possibly trigger some memories for me so I gladly followed his lead. Sherlock did not stop to talk to anyone, he made a remark about two of the officers having a love affair, but did not bother to say hello. As we reached the body, a man who introduced himself as Inspector Rust held out his hand to greet me. "Hello, I'm ," I said, Sherlock quickly corrected me " ". Rust shook my hand and said, "A bit cold are we?" I did not understand, he seemed to notice what went through my head and said "your hands, they are ice cold". "Oh, I just washed them in the river, been painting all day" I replied. But my hands, as well as the rest of my body were always ice cold, Sherlock explained this as a result of my accident, but had for some reason instructed me not to talk too much about it. I figured it would cause discomfort for others so I did as he said. On the wall, it was written "Rache", and the women was laid down flat on her back with a distinct wound on her forehead. Sherlock carefully went over the body, checking all pockets, and then he searched the room on all four, Inspector Rust just shrugged at the sight of it, but Sherlock took no remark. Sherlock asked for my assistance in turning the body over so he could check her back as well. We moved the body when the police officer who seemed most annoyed by our presence came bursting in "what in heaven's name are you doing?" "Your job", Sherlock replied. The police officer looked upset and explained that he did not want, nor need his assistance. Sherlock asked, "what's your verdict then?". The Police officer said "well, I'd gladly enlighten you, the victim died from a blow to the head, no other injuries on her body so it is quite obvious, given the state of the blood on her forehead and hair I would estimate her time of death to have happened within the last 12 hours." Sherlock said, "and motive?" The police officer said "well, this is really Inspector Rust's table, but given that she is wearing make-up and no wedding ring I'd say it's a case of a love affair gone bad, the text on the wall is meant to say Rachid which is a well-known womanizer in town, my educated guess says he's the one who did it but that she never got the time to complete her message". Sherlock said, and this is why you need me, the police officer did not look shaken but nicely said, "well, please do explain". Sherlock said, "first of all, I can tell you that she died exactly 4.15pm, secondly she died from poisoning, not a blow to the head, and thirdly, the motive was revenge". "You could not possibly tell her exact time of death, and your other theories are just guesses as well," the officer said. Sherlock replied, "Well first of all, I was sure it had to have happened less than four hours ago due to the fact that her coat is still wet from the rain, if she would have died more than four hours ago, the coat would have most definitely been dry by now given the temperature of this room. Secondly, the wound on her forehead comes from falling down, the killer then turned her over and cleaned the area where she fell, if you look between the floorboards over here, Sherlock pointed, you'll see blood, the killer then wiped it up, why? Because it was not part of his plan, he wanted the body to be discovered without any wound. His true intention was to leave only one clue, "rache", which is German for revenge. And as you can see the colour of the letters are of crimson, which indicates the blood has more older origin. It most certainly is the murderer himself that has written it, If you would have searched her properly, you would also have found this half of a capsule, Sherlock held up half a capsule. There is only one half in this room, my guess is the killer figured that she would swallow the whole capsule, but she was clever enough to sever it herself and hid half of the capsule at the back of her mouth to give the police a clue, this is also the reason to why the killer was not ready for her to fall down. You see, the poison hit her a lot quicker since she severed the capsule. Judging from the smell of bitter almond I'd say this capsule contained cyanide, and quite a lot given the size of the capsule. The precise time of her death is a bit too easy, just like all ladies of her standard, she carried a pocket watch which broke when she fell forward, Sherlock took out her pocket watch and showed that it was shattered, it had stopped at 4.15pm". The police officers looked stunned as Sherlocked gestured for me to follow him and we left the scene. As we left the scene a police officer came running and said Inspector Rust had to come down to the station right away.

When we came home, Sherlock could not stop smoking his pipe. I could see that something was bothering him, it was truly not like him. I asked why he smoked so much and he explained that this was an "a lot of tobacco kind of problem". I asked why the killer would not have wanted to leave any other clue rather than "rache" but Sherlock did not reply.

 **Chapter 4**

As Sherlock woke up he went over to his chair and sat down. He carefully took out his pipe and started to clean it as he looked over at me. I asked him where he wanted to start the day but he just shrugged and said he needed to smoke his pipe to focus his mind so I just sat there. As he had cleaned his pipe he reached for his tobacco-box, but it was empty. He seemed very disappointed, I reminded him that he smoked an awful amount of tobacco when we arrived home from the crime scene yesterday. Seeing Sherlock in this state was truly out of the ordinary, as I could see he was troubled, I offered to go out and buy some more tobacco since I was restless either way. Sitting around would do me no good. "Get a lot", he yelled after me as I walked out the door.

As I went out the front door I was surprised by the amount of people out there, they were all looking at me, as I looked at them they all turned away. I am quite used to people staring at me, whispering, and pointing, so I tried to act as if I did not care, like I always do, and started to walk towards the tobacco store. When I started walking, they started to yell at me, calling me a murderer and other foul words. I was very confused since I was actually one of the persons assisting the police in catching a murderer. I turned around to get some clarity to the situation but they all took off. When I arrived at Melcombe Street where 's favorite tobacco shop is located the paper-boy from the newsstand outside the store rushed into the store after seeing me come around the corner. What on earth is going on I asked myself and walked towards the tobacco store. When I was a few feet away I saw the store clerk put out the closed sign and lock the door. Now I really started to worry, my mind was racing and as I turned around I saw the headline of the paper "Murder in London, disfigured man wanted". It all made sense to me now, they must have all figured I was the murderer, but why had me and Sherlock not been informed about this development, who was this witness? I grabbed a paper and left a penny on top of the pile of papers and quickly headed back home.

When I entered the door, I could see that Police Inspector Rust was there. At this point, I was truly shaken by the fact that everyone thought I was the murderer. "Are you okay ?" Inspector Rust asked me, but I did not have time to answer because Sherlock quickly intervened and said, "My tobacco please, if you will," and held out his hand. "I'm glad to see you care about me," I answered annoyed. "So, I suppose they wouldn't let you buy any tobacco" Sherlock replied, not giving a second thought to my well-being. "How did you know?" I asked him. "Well, Inspector Rust here just told me about his encounter with a witness and gave me a heads-up about today's paper. I will explain it all for you on our way, thank you for your visit Inspector Rust, but we have things to attend to." "We do? Where are we going?" I asked. "I will tell you that in a bit, but first we need to buy some tobacco, this truly is a problem that requires a lot of tobacco."

On our way to the tobacco store, he explained that Inspector Rust had been approached by a witness who said he had seen a man leave the scene of the crime. He had described him as disfigured and pale as death. Disfigured as in a heavily scarred face. Naturally, our dear Inspector forgot to inform the man that he was not allowed to share this information with anyone else until it was already too late, so the man sold the story to the first journalist he could find. Obviously, the inspector knows you could not possibly have done it since you were painting the former Police Inspector's house and he confirmed you were there during the time of the murder. Unfortunately, the people of London are quick to judge. As he was telling this story, he put on his normal act of being seemingly untouched by the gravity of the situation, but I could see that he was heavily affected by the events. Sherlock seemed troubled and almost anxious, at the time, I threw it off as a need for tobacco. When we reached the corner of Melcombe Street he stopped and said it would be best if he carried on alone from here, he did not want to risk being shut out from the tobacco store. He told me to meet him over at the cemetery. I was about to ask him why we should meet there but he had already carried on.

 **Chapter 5**

As I reached the cemetery I sat down on a bench, I was feeling crushed. I was used to never fully being happy, my very existence was enigmatic to me, I had no real recollection of my previous life. All I knew was Sherlock. And whenever we went outside I always felt like an outcast, people always shrugged back when they saw me. I did not feel that I belonged in this world. Sometimes I even wished I would just have died at the time of my accident. My appearance denied me a lot in this world. I am always greeted with pity or despise, I could feel my hatred grow inside me the more I thought about it. Being pointed out as a murderer did not exactly help my situation.

Sherlock came walking along the pathway and I walked over to him, "come" he said, "the time has come for me to show you something." We walked over to a grave and he said, "this is where your life ended, I have not wanted to show you this before since I feared it would upset you". On the tombstone, it read my name. "I don't understand," I said, the images of grenades and gunfire flashed in my mind. Sherlock said, "you see, during the war in Afghanistan, you died. And when I was working at some of my experiments over at the morgue, you came in, and given our history, I did not feel right leaving you there when I knew that I had the chance of bringing you back." I started to shake, I felt furious, "who gave you the right to play god? I assume this is why I am pale as death itself? Is this also why I am never warm?" the questions bubbled up within me together with great rage. Sherlock replied, "yes, a small price to pay for life I'd say". "You call this a life?" I rushed off, I was furious, I could not deal with Sherlock at the moment. I ran without direction until I ended up at a dead end, I was in an alley and faced a brick wall. In my furious rage, I did not think, so I bashed the wall with all my force, and when the wall broke down I was not sure if the lack of damage to my hand or the demolition of a brick wall surprised me the most. A woman smoking in one of the windows on a higher floor level screamed out when she saw me. "The murderer is in our alley, he just bashed down a brick wall!". I started to run.

 **Chapter 6**

I did not stop running until I could see the lamppost that said 221B. I wanted to get all my belongings and leave this place for good. As I made it up the stairs I heard the scream of a woman in the alley right next to the apartment building. I quickly ran down to see what was occurring. In the alley was bits and pieces all over the place, and it seemed as if the man had stepped on a landmine or something more gruesome. Taking a closer look on the scene I became so focused I did not notice Sherlock approaching me.

"My goodness, Watson, you did not create this mess, did you?"

"Of course not, it was like this when arrived at the door. I heard a woman call out and had to find out what for.", said I reluctantly. I did not wish to speak to Sherlock after what happened at the graveyard.

"Very well, I shall take matters in my own hands then."

After a few minutes had gone by Sherlock had come up with a conclusion. The man had been murdered in a hurry as there was still footprints and handprints all over the place. As the man's limbs were spread out so far from each other it seemed if it was not a human who had done the action, yet the other evidence told the opposite. When Sherlock narrowed it down he said it must have been out of pure anger, as the mind of a human being can strengthen a person drastically. After that he did not say much else, as if he was holding something back, but I did not bother to ask him more about it. Policemen were called, and we left the scene.

The rumour got even bigger about me being the murderer as I was so close to incident, and I decided to stay inside for the time being.

A few days went by, and it started to rain heavily outside and as Thor's hammer struck it woke me from my reading. The door had flown open and as went to close it I noticed that Sherlock was not present. I peeked through the open door and saw him running up the street towards the hospital. I decided then to follow him, and as we went passed the hospital I saw a building that looked very crooked and run down. I had not noticed the building before, oddly enough yet there it stood and so did Sherlock right in front of it. He stepped inside and I waited for a good opportunity to follow him. I gave him five minutes that proceeded as planned. Well inside the smell of rusted iron and chemicals embraced me. It was an old laboratory, abandoned for at least two or so years. I had just taken a few steps when I heard a door on the second-floor slam shut.

 **Chapter 7**

Sherlock looked at the door, and took a step towards it. He jerked the door handle, but to no avail; the door was locked. The dark of the night surrounded Sherlock, and as the air around him grew thicker from the gas pipes that were connected to the chamber beneath all his senses left him. All except for one, he could still hear, and he swore that something was making an eerie noise in the distant part of the roof. As the sound came closer so did a pair of yellow stained eyes with a hateful glare. Now before him stood not a man, but a specter of what once had been one. It was however, of flesh and bone, but lived only through its hatred.

"At last you are in my grasp, oh how I've longed for this!", whispered the creature. His voice was deep and the odor that came with it was strong enough to peer through the gas clouds. "I cannot believe that you of all people would be so foolish to return to this place; that you could stop me?". The voice overwhelmed Sherlock so much that he had to take a step backwards. "For you do remember me, do you not?" "Of course, you do, but let's not get too hasty here shall we, don't you want to know what I've been up to all these years ever since our good riddance?" The creature looked amused at Sherlock's fear, especially when he saw that Sherlock recognized who was standing in front of him. "Has the cat got your tongue Holmes? Or should I refer to Frankenstein instead, for that is what you call yourself, is it not?" Sherlock mustered out a silent "yes" then went back to his silence, for he did not appreciate getting beaten at his own game.

"I do so admire your enthusiasm, everything you did just to hide from the truth, but the truth always gets you in the end." The creature prepared himself as if he was about to hold a speech, but as he took a deep breath he coughed up a liquid with the color of wine, but the texture of tar, and he let it drop down from his chin.

Sherlock was felt his own frustration of not speaking, he had questions that needed answers. "So, tell me then, why did you kill those men? They had done nothing to harm you, had they?"

"Oh, that's true old friend, but all men commit a sin in their lifetime, some greater than the common man would ever do." Sherlock felt the yellow glare tightening up on him like noose around his neck. "Playing God, for example. Does Watson know about my existence, that he has a brother?"

"He didn't need to know, you were supposed to be dust by now, or still rotting in this place

"You are unfinished, that is why you are coughing up…"

"Do you take me for a fool? I know I do not long for this world much more, and you are to blame for putting me in such a hellish state!"

"Then tell me, why did they die?"

"As you wish."

After you had left me here, I had to regain my strength. I had no memory of who I was or where I were. All I could do was to sit and wait for you to return, to get an explanation to all this, but you never returned. As time went by I had to find something to do, and as my speech and ability to read returned I took shelter in all the books you had left me. I had not yet recalled my own birthname, so I picked the name of my favorite poet, John Clare. I think I was locked in there for two years and I had regained most of my memories. I understood that I was undead, the only puzzle piece missing was how I died. I had grown anxious, I had to get out into the outside world, but was the world prepared for me? I had to become a silhouette, a shadow.

I had not been in the outside for long when I walked by a few shopping stands that were selling food of all sorts, when I felt the strong smell of roasted almonds. It was if something inside of me clicked, as if this was something that I had enjoyed very much before. It was also the start of it all. I was also fond of chemicals you see, something you and I had in common. There is a specific type of chemical that has that of a similar smell to almonds, and that is cyanide. This led me to Royal London Hospital as I had remembrance of this place. As I sneaked pass silent as a fox down to the cellar where the alchemy station was, I heard a familiar voice. As I heard it flashers came back to me and I instantly knew to whom that voice belonged to, that of an old colleague of mine, Dr. Molly. I saw her standing there with a young nurse, and as she takes her leave, Molly goes back to her office. I run after her and just before the door closes my boot blocks its path. Molly, not hearing the door close, turns around to see nothing but a silhouette, a shadow, but with a face. A face that makes her scream in terror as she gently steps backwards to her desk. As my grey boots comes closer, her small feet fumbled about and she falls to the ground, hitting her head on the counter of her desk in the process. She passed out due to her shock, and I glanced through the room to see a small container filled with small capsules. I picked it up and opened it and was greeted by the same almond embrace I had gotten before, and a sudden urge to inflict pain came to me. She was the one, she had done this to me, or so I thought. Before I could rationalize with myself I was leaning over her with one capsule in my hand. As I put it in her mouth she came about, and with an agile attack she stabbed me in my shoulder with scalpel she had been carrying. Agitated by this, I forced me on her and made her swallow the capsule, and she quickly succumbed to the toxin. My revenge was done, I put down a message for whoever might stumble upon the scene, and I was satisfied for the moment. After leaving the hospital it did not take long for police to arrive, and I stayed just around the corner to fill my satisfaction. When twenty or so minutes had gone by I was about to leave, when I saw you and Watson arrive. Just the glance at you triggered something in me again, and the relief I had felt went to hiding and all that was left in my mind was you. Then there was a slight gasp that came from behind, and as I turned around there was a small man. He was about to yell out to the masses of people surrounding the area, but I put my hand on his mouth and hushed him. As he glared at me I started to run away. I ran until his vision would not reach me anymore.

 **Chapter 8**

The second murder was a pure coincidence. I was still trying to find my way through London's streets. Trying to find a way to find out more about you, and where you had been, and why you had not returned to me. The word of a disfigured man committing the murder had spread and I had to return to the shadows once more. I followed the trails to your whereabouts and when I arrived at Baker Street I was pleased. Watson rushed out heading in one direction that seemed to be the tobacco store. I thought now was the time as you would be alone in the house, but I was interrupted by this drunk who saw my face. He spewed all these horrific words against me and I had enough of it. With my anger came my strength and I tore the man to pieces. My rage that was aimed at you was instead used on this bastard. I knew it would not take long for people to notice in an area as open as this, so I had to get out of there as quickly as possible. I retreated to the laboratory where you once had left me to rot, and I planned. My plan was to lure you here, so by connecting your machine to attract the lightning was as good as any. And would you look at that, it worked, it actually worked.

"So, you figured it out then, amazing that you regained your memory so quickly.", Sherlock chuckled. "What do you plan to do with me now?"

"As you are my creator, I will be your undoer. Firstly, I would like to know why you killed me."

"You were simply a too good of an opportunity. We had been working together on this project, you, Watson, and I, to reincarnate the dead, for too long. Dead animals would not suffice anymore, you knew that. We had no chance to get our hands on a human carcass so the next best thing had to do. I took my chance when Watson left for Afghanistan and it was only us left. It was rather simple, all it took was a little bit of cyanide in your almond coffee."

"We might not be alive, but you seem to be the monster here, not us.", a third voice joined the conversation, it was Watson. He had heard most of Sherlock's confessions. "And who's to say if it was not you who killed me as well?"

"It doesn't matter, I cannot stand this any longer!", John Clare grabbed Sherlock by his throat and held him over the ledge of the building. As he was about to drop him, Watson yelled.

"Stamford! You needn't do this. Shall we not prove to the people we are not monsters?"

"It was a long time since I heard that name, but I am not Stamford anymore, that man is dead at the hands of Sherlock Holmes." "I am John Clare now, a man who seeks revenge on them who has done me harm. It is not however, too late for you. Leave this place, and let me finish this."

Watson nodded and turned around heading towards the door when he heard the sound of a body fracturing the air waves. Shortly thereafter was a small pounce on the pavement below. Watson opened the door and did not look back.

 **Epilogue**

London was afraid, and no one saw or heard of either John Clare, Sherlock or me for a long time. But I think I am ready soon to return to the outside world. I found solitude in the apartment 221B of Baker Street, and continued my studies in human anatomy. It has been awfully quiet here since I returned for the laboratory, but it has given me more opportunities to continue my research. He might not have been the best man, Sherlock, but he still was my friend and I will always remember him as one. This seems like a good time to stop writing this log, and start my life all over again, but I will let the rain go past, and the thunder die down. There is one last thing that must be done here before I leave.

Watson put down his book and headed towards the chambers where he once had been given life once again. He looked around and gathered his belongings and put them in his bag. He turned to the machine and grabbed on to the lever. As he pulled the lightning struck the center of the room, and for a few seconds sparks flew around as if it was a firework performance. It became dark, and Watson waited. The moon shined through the cracks in the ceiling and as the wind made the walls creak Watson felt the glare of a pair of light brown eyes on his neck.

The End


End file.
